Nate leaned against the counter, looking at the beer in his hands, seeming to be lost in thought. Shaking his head slightly, he looked my way. “It’s nothing, really. At least nothing bad. My parents are pretty fucking awesome, and I had a great childhood. But you know how sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone?”
I nodded.
Nate paused, took a drink, then continued. “When I got my own place after college, I realized that all my life, at least through my teen years, when I’d get home after dark, my mom would make sure the lights were on when I was coming home. Whether she was in the back of the house making dinner or already in bed, the lights were there to welcome me.”
I felt my chest fill up with the warmth in his voice when talking about his mom. Damn, that was attractive. “And you didn’t like coming home to a dark house, so you got timers for your lights?”
Nate looked up with a shy grin. Wowza. A strong desire overtook me to slide my arms around his waist and lean in. I held back, but barely. Seemed that my confidence was coming back.
“Sounds lame, right?”
I thought briefly that he couldn’t be more wrong. Hell, a guy that loved his family and the feeling of home so much that he worked to achieve it on his own? Yeah, I could get behind that.
“Not lame, it sounds like love.” I continued quietly, “I’m glad you had that. Where are your parents now?”
“I grew up in a town about fifteen miles from here, and my parents still live in my childhood home, but this was my grandparents’ place. I inherited it when they passed.” He glanced around in what looked like wonder.
“Happy memories?”
Nate nodded slowly. “Hell, yes. Lots of great memories. My grandparents were a trip. My grandma loved to tell dirty jokes. My grandpa was happy just watching her. They were pretty awesome.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Yeah.” Nate cleared his throat. “They both passed last year…” He trailed off, but then his voice returned. “But hell, they were in their eighties, had long, full lives. I try to remember that, not that I don’t wish like hell I could have one last dinner with them here.”
I looked around his home. While certainly on the small side, the space was used exceptionally well. I could easily imagine a small family growing up there. “These were your mom’s parents or your dad’s?”
Nate stood from the counter, placing his beer on the island before turning to the cabinets and rummaging through them. “Mom’s. She was an only child. So am I.” He smoothed his hand over the worn butcher-block counters. “I spent a lot of time here growing up. When my parents let me know that this was mine, that I could live here, well, I couldn’t turn that down. Getting this place helped me make some important decisions about the direction of my life.” His voice lowered. “It makes them feel closer in some way, you know?”
I nodded. Glimpsing the stack of books next to the couch, I smiled. “Clearly you like books.” I jerked my head toward the living room. “Is that something you’ve always loved?”
Nate’s laughter was easy with the lighter topic. “Heck yeah,” he said. “I don’t remember a lot about reading in elementary school, but in fourth grade, I readHatchetby Gary Paulsen and I was hooked. I’d convince my grandpa to take me to the woods and talk to him for hours about how I’d survive if I crash-landed in the wilderness.”
His gaze landed on the trees just outside the kitchen windows. Damn. I’d thought he was attractive when I watched him in the library over the past month. My feelings had grown when we talked and I got to know him. But this? Relaxed in his home, sharing memories that left him vulnerable? This was kryptonite to any remaining willpower I had. I just hoped he was being honest at the library earlier, that whatever was between us wasn’t one-sided. I didn’t know if I could handle it otherwise.
10
Make a Move
Nate
I wasn’t sure what it was about Elle that had me spilling all my feelings within minutes of having her inside my home. I’d much rather return to the conversation we were having on the porch of the library, if only to get to be that close to her again. Or talk to her about whatever shitstorm that was happening at her work. Yet I didn’t want to rush her or make her feel like the only reason I asked her back here was because of any physical attraction. There was that, certainly, but this seemed like it was possibly so much more.
Elle moved to the living room and was scanning the stacks of books I had on the floor and on the shelves. Turning, she asked, “So do you have a favorite type of book?”
I organized the ingredients for dinner, pulling items from the fridge and cabinets so I’d be ready to go. “Not sure I have a favorite type. I’ll read anything. If I’m just reading for me, I’d say I probably gravitate toward books that have a bit of suspense.”
Elle returned her head to the side tilt she had going on while she scanned the spines of the books. Murmuring, she said, “Like Patterson.”
“Yeah, I think I have a few James Pattersons in there, but I also have authors like Mary Higgins Clark that I used to read with my grandma.”
Elle’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, not trying to stereotype you as a reader…” Her voice trailed off.
Pulling out a skillet, I tried to think of a way to put Elle at ease. She was a study in contrasts—confident at times, unsure at others. “Elle, it’s just books. I mean, we could pull up my list of books on my eReader and discuss my favorite romance authors. Books are books. You aren’t going to offend me in this conversation. Promise. Now how do you feel about chicken in a creamy chive sauce?”
Elle stood across the island. I couldn’t help but note that her mouth was open, as if in surprise. It was freaking adorable.
“Thoughts on chicken?” I prodded.
